


The Mis-Adventures of Renfield Turnbull, Canadian Private Eye

by daughtershade



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:46:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughtershade/pseuds/daughtershade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Film Noir tale of the worst private detective in Chicago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mis-Adventures of Renfield Turnbull, Canadian Private Eye

Chicago 1953:

Renfield pulled the collar up on his trench and stepped back out into the rain. Chicago was miserable this time of year. Spring hadn’t yet sprung, but winter was slowly running out of steam. He pulled the wet fedora down over his eyes and hunched his shoulders into the wind. The office was only a block or two more and he figured that he couldn’t get wetter than he already was. The gritty doorway sat between a Chinese laundry and a Romanian restaurant. It wasn’t the best part of town, but Renfield hardly noticed. Grime and dirt from the street had opaqued the window hiding the words that were so familiar to him now, “Fraser and Turnbull, Private Investigations.” He didn’t bother to wipe the window clean anymore, not since the funeral. After all, it would only be dirty again tomorrow. Ren slowly climbed the stairs with a weary gait.

He stepped into the office and shook out his coat and hat, hanging them on the pegs by the door to dry. His eyes refused to stray over to the black hat that hung on the peg beside his, the hat that would never be worn again.

“Good afternoon, Frannie,” he said looking over to the slight woman filing her nails before dropping the mail onto her desk. Frannie wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen but she wasn't lacking in the looks department, either. The tight clothing she wore helped. It wasn't that Frannie was easy; it was just that she wasn't too hard. She was the kind of girl that kept her mother up at nights--and Ren should know, he'd sat up with Ma Vecchio a few times.

“Hey Ren, you look like a drowned mouse.”

“Rat, drowned rat.”

“Mouse, rat, squirrel, whatever!” she said in her usual exasperated voice. “We got a customer. He’s waiting in your office.”

Ren looked up surprised. The business hadn’t been doing well, not since his partner… but he wasn’t going to think about that today.

“What do you think?” he asked her softly.

“I don’t trust him. There’s something hickey about him.”

Ren looked at her funny for a moment before he figured out what she meant. Frannie wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box, but you didn't want to make her mad because even a dull pencil could stab you if you weren't careful.

“You mean hinky? How so?”

“I don’t know. Just be careful, and see if he can pay up front. We need the cash.”

Renfield nodded and peeked under Frannie’s desk. Diefenbaker peered up at him. The wolf had belonged to his partner, well, as much as the wolf belonged to anyone. Dief did pretty much whatever he wanted. He had been a great help to Ren. So much so that Frannie had remarked that they should change the name to Diefenbaker and Turnbull Private Investigations. The wolf seemed to agree with this. Of course, then Frannie had realized what she said and had spent two hours in the bathroom refusing to come out. Renfield understood. Most of the time he wanted to lock himself in the bathroom and cry too.

“Well, are you coming?” he asked.

Dief got to his feet and licked Ren’s cheek. Ren rubbed his face on his sleeve and opened the door to his office. For some reason, the office still smelled like well-oiled leather and a hint of pine. It always made him think of home. The abutting desks faced each other in the center of the room. Ren’s desk was neat and tidy, as was the other. The only difference between them was the slight layer of dust that covered surface of the second desk. Normally, Ren was a compulsive cleaner. The very thought of dust made him shiver, but for some reason he just couldn’t bring himself to disturb the gray layer that covered Fraser’s desk. It seemed disrespectful. Of course, the rest of the office was spotless.

Ren’s eyes slowly came back around to the man half sitting, half leaning on his desk smoking a cigarette. Turnbull sighed and thought, “This would be a lot easier if Fraser was still around. I’m sure he’d know what to do with the experimental blond lounging on my desk.”

While he pondered, Diefenbaker waltzed up and started sniffing the man’s crotch. He quickly stood up and backed against the desk.

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s your dog’s deal?” the man said with a quick Chicago accent.

“He’s a wolf, actually.”

“A wolf!”

“Don’t worry, Diefenbaker won’t harm you. He’s just curious.”

“Well, tell him to back off!”

“I’m afraid he’s facing the wrong way for that. You see, he’s deaf. You’ll have to tell him.”

By this time, Dief had stood on his haunches and put his front paws up on the man’s shoulders to get better access to his face. Dief was licking him happily and wagging his tail. The man grabbed his muzzle and looked him in the eye.

“Get off me, exclamation mark!”

Dief hopped down and went to his usual spot on the small rug by Fraser’s desk. The gentleman rubbed his face with the back of his hand. After shooting the wolf a dirty look he glanced back over at Ren.

“He reads lips?”

“Yes, in two languages, well, three, if you count Inuit. Please, have a seat.”

“You speak Inuit?” the man asked sitting in the client chair that was near his desk.

Ren sat down and looked at the man. “No, my partner did. I’m Renfield Turnbull, how may I be of assistance?”

“Ray, Ray Kowalski. I’m trying to track someone down. I’ve run into some dead ends and I heard you guys are good.”

Ren took a moment to look at the man while he listened. The first thing Ren noticed was the unique hair. It was blond with a disarray of spikes pointing in every direction. Kowalski’s hands were long-fingered and elegant. He wasn't as handsome as Fraser had been, but there was something magnetic about him that drew Ren's eye. He sat with a slouch that belied his tall frame. Although, compared to Renfield, most men were short. Ray’s appearance was somewhat rumpled but his eyes were sharp and spoke of a quick intelligence. He was like those old portraits one always finds at one's grandmother's. No matter where you went, the eyes always followed you.

Ren could tell that Kowalski was trying to act casual, but there was something nervous underneath. Frannie was right, there was something hinky about the guy. Renfield wondered who had told him that the agency was good and how long ago that had been.

“I’d be happy to help, of course. Who is it you are looking for? And if I may ask, why are you after him or her?”

“His name’s Marcus Ellery. Why I want to find him is none of your business.”

Ren frowned and looked over at Dief who had lifted his head. How the deaf wolf had known Ray’s tone was beyond the detective. Maybe wolves have mysterious ways. Ren never bothered to try and figure it out. He just went with the flow. Dief had instincts no man could ever top, although Fraser had usually given it his best shot.

“Well, if you want me to find him for you, then I’m afraid it is, sir.”

The sharp tough guy façade that had been sitting in the chair in front of him collapsed. It was like watching the Hindenburg go down. Ray sighed heavily and slouched further.

“It’s about my wife. Well, she’s my ex-wife now. Anyway, she got tangled up with this guy Ellery. He’s no good. I should know. I ran into him in the past. He’s a bank robber. I’ve got to get Stella out of whatever she’s into.”

Dief gave them a look that read “Plus you want to get back at this guy,” but neither man was paying him any attention.

“I’d be glad to help you, Mr. Kowalski. I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask for part of the fee upfront.”

Ray looked at him for a moment before nodding. Ren let out his breath. He hated asking for money before the job, but they were in a fix. He was already late paying Frannie's wages. Fraser always left that side of the business up to him. If he'd let Fraser do it, they would have been working for free all the time.

“Yeah, okay, whatever it takes.”

Ren took Ray’s money and wrote out a receipt. They shook hands and Ren stepped out into the reception area to hand Frannie the money. She gave a small whoop. Ren blushed as she pulled up the form fitting skirt to slip the cash into the top of her stocking. She winked at him when he looked back up at her face and he blushed harder. Ren stepped back into the office. Ray smirked at his pink face, but he said nothing.

“So tell me what you know about this Mr. Ellery. You said you’d run into some dead ends. Have you been looking for him long?”

“Sorta. I know he’s in town. I know Stella is with him. I just need to know where. Everybody that might know has clammed up. I guess Stella must have warned them off. That’s why I need a third party.”

Ren nodded. “Would they be likely to talk to me?”

“Doubt it.”

“Ellery has a record? The police might know his whereabouts.”

Ray snorted, “Yeah, like they’d tell me.”

“Well, they might tell me,” Ren said standing.

Ray got up and followed him and Dief out the door. Ren peeked out the window. Thankfully, the rain had stopped. Maybe it was a sign, or maybe the rain was just waiting for him to step outside again, Ren didn't want to think on it much. He grabbed his coat and hat.

“Frannie, Mr. Kowalski and I are going to see your brother. I’m not sure when we’ll be back.”

Frannie gave a humorless laugh and said, “Good luck, buster.”

Ren headed downstairs for the garage. He hadn’t moved his heap in weeks. He could barely afford to feed himself and Dief, much less pay for gas, but this was a client, this was different. It was strange having someone ride in the passenger side again. Fraser had been more at home on a horse or behind a dogsled than he ever was behind the wheel, so Ren had always done the driving. Ray caught Ren staring while they waited at an intersection.

“What are you looking at?” Ray asked.

He answered, looking away, “Sorry, I’m just thinking.”

“About your partner?”

Ren jerked his head back to stare at the man beside him. The guy didn't miss a beat. “How did you...?”

“Hunch. What was he like?”

“Fraser was… well, perfect. He used to be a policeman, a mounted policeman back in Canada.”

“You’re Canadian? I knew something was weird about you. So how’d you guys end up together?”

“We were in the 2nd Infantry together during the war. We both got wounded in the Raid on Dieppe. We became friends in hospital, and when they sent us home, we just stuck together. He didn’t have any family to speak of. His father had died a few years earlier. Because he'd quit the RCMP to join the army and because of his wounded status, they wouldn’t take him back. We drifted south and ended up here.”

“Dieppe huh? That was rough. You were out of it before I even started service. I was a machinist on the USS Idaho in the South Pacific. Beats me why I ever joined the Navy. I can’t swim, but they needed mechanics and that’s what I knew. That and my dad.”

“Your father?” Ren asked.

“Yeah, he was a mechanic and a Navy man. He’d have flipped if I’d joined the Army.”

Ren smiled at Ray and received a grin back. They pulled up at the police station and Ren got out. Dief leaped over the seat and got out beside Ray. Ren shot the wolf a wounded look. The fickle beast could worry about getting his own supper if he was going to be like that.

“I think he likes me,” Ray said as they stepped into the building.

“Apparently.”

The twenty-seventh precinct never really changed. There was always a hustle and bustle of coppers, stoolies, and ladies of negotiable affection. Ren took the stairs and headed towards the detective division with Ray in tow. They didn’t get very far into the room when a voice cried out.

“Oh for Pete’s sake! What the hell do you want, Canuck?”

Ren turned to see Ray Vecchio walking towards him holding a folder. Several of the other detectives snickered and received a dirty look from the Italian. Vecchio was slim and slick. An uncharitable person would make allusions to ferrets, but Ren wasn't that kind of guy. He was always impressed with how Vecchio carried himself. He might have looked like a regular Chicago bruno but Ray was all flatfoot through and through. He took care of his mother and his sisters and he couldn't be bought. Fraser had known Vecchio was a good man the moment they met. You didn't get much truer friends than that.

“Ah, Ray. Are you busy? May I speak with you for a moment?” Ren asked politely.

“I’m always busy, Turnbull. Why don’t you breeze off?” Vecchio said sliding past them towards his desk.

Ren was unphased by this harsh treatment, but he could see Kowalski bristling out of the corner of his eye. Renfield merely followed the detective and stood by his desk. Vecchio patiently ignored him for all of five seconds.

“Okay! What? What?”

“Detective Ray Vecchio, this is Ray Kowalski, my client.”

He watched as the pair gave each other what Frannie called the ‘sink eye.’ After a moment, Vecchio looked back at him.

“So?”

“Mr. Kowalski is looking for his ex-wife. He fears she has become involved with a known felon.”

“If they’re divorced, why the hell does he care who his chippy's shacked up with?”

“Watch your mouth, cop! This guy’s bad news I don’t want her getting hurt, ya pipe that?” Ray snarled and stepped forward aggressively.

Dief gave a soft whine and Ren glanced around. Most of the other police officers were now watching the scene intently. While Renfield didn’t approve of such methods, he knew that the police were quick to take care of any threats against their own.

“Please, settle down, Mr. Kowalski,” he said quickly. “It was a valid question. Detective, we were hoping that the police might know the whereabouts of this man.”

Vecchio snorted, “Why the hell should I tell you, Turnbull? So this guy can go out and ice the creep? More work for me, no thanks.”

“Ray,” Ren said softly, “you know I wouldn’t allow that. I assure you that Mr. Kowalski is only worried about his wife’s welfare. Can you please help?”

Vecchio stared at his desk before sighing heavily. When he spoke, he did so softly.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But this is only because I owed Benny, and because you’re a right guy to let Frannie keep that job and help out Ma. You can’t keep coming here, Turnbull. It don’t look good for me helping out a gum-shoe, and a bad one at that. What’s this guy’s name?”

“Marcus Ellery. Thank you, Ray.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call Frannie if I get anything.”

“I appreciate this, Ray,” Ren said turning to leave.

They made it back out to the car without incident. Ren was glad. Sometimes Chicago policemen tended to hold a grudge. With all the crime syndicates and trouble boys in town, it was no wonder. The city’s motto was practically ‘watch out for your own.’ Ren headed for a nearby diner that he knew would accept Diefenbaker without question.

“Where are we going?” Ray asked.

“To get lunch. You look as though you haven’t eaten.”

“What are you, my mother now?”

“I’m sure she’s a very sensible woman,” Ren replied.

Ray crossed his arms and stared.

“What did he mean by a bad one?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Vecchio. He said it wouldn’t look good for him to help out a gum-shoe 'especially a bad one.'”

“Ah,” Ren said, “we’re here. I hope you’ll like this place. Alice makes a mean meatloaf sandwich. Well, I could do better, but…”

“Turnbull, answer me,” Ray said not backing down an inch.

Ren took his hand off the door handle and sighed. He looked over at Ray, but couldn’t meet his eyes.

“He’s right. I’m a terrible PI. Fraser was the detective. I think he just kept me around because he felt sorry for me. Ever since he died, business has been bad. The only reason I haven’t closed up shop is because I can’t get the nerve up to fire Frannie. She needs to work to help out Mrs. Vecchio. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t think to mention this before I paid you?”

“We need the money, Ray, and I can help you, I can! Please let me try. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll give you back the money, I promise.”

Ren felt Ray’s intense stare, but still couldn’t look up. After a few moments of silence, Dief whined.

“All right, but you’d better be straight with me from here on out. After all, I’m paying for the privilege.”

 

\-----------

 

After lunch, Ren dropped Ray at home and headed back to the office. He'd barely taken off his hat when Frannie looked up and said, “Oh, hey, Ren. I just left a message on your desk from Ray. He said a couple of dicks from the twelfth precinct reported seeing Ellery near that old bottling plant on Westminster.”

“That was fast,” Ren said, and turned around heading back to the car.

Westminster had seen better days. The street wasn't really on the bad side of town, not that Chicago had much of a good side anymore. It was just more run down than most. Gardino Bottling had been closed for nearly six years. It had once been a major employer for the city, but now it was just an empty hull. Ren found the gates closed, but with no chain. He left his car near the entrance and made his way to the plant on foot.

The door he found wasn't locked and he stepped out of the sun into the dark expanse of the plant. The large building was quiet except for the occasional cooing of pigeons roosting in the rafters. It took him a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim illumination cast by a handful of skylights in the ceiling. The shadows slowly resolved into machinery that was rusted and covered in dust. Crates were stacked haphazardly in towers twice Ren's height. Dief nosed his way across the main floor towards the back of the building, and Ren followed quietly. He was half way across the vast space when a woman's scream halted him in his tracks. Suddenly, shots blared in the silence. Ren jerked in surprise and dove towards the nearest cover.

"Ellery! Let the woman go and come out where I can see you!" Ren yelled into the dark, but received no response.

"Dief! Dief!" he called, but the wolf was taking cover underneath an assembly line conveyer and wasn't paying attention.

Ren admonished himself silently for forgetting to bring a weapon. It was foolish of him to think that Ellery, a convicted bank robber, would not be armed. It was too easy to fall back into his old patterns. Fraser had never carried a weapon. His partner had always put his faith in people. True, they usually ended up in situations much like this one, with only their wits to protect them, but it never seemed to bother the former Mountie. Ren was worried. It was always Fraser that had come up with some wild plan to apprehend the gunmen. He found himself wondering what to do. Unfortunately, this provided enough distraction that he never noticed someone edging up behind him until the blow sent him to the floor unconscious.

 

\----------------

 

Ren's eyes opened to a much darker room. He rolled onto his back and hissed in pain as the large bump on the back of his head met concrete. Above him he could see twilight through one of the skylights. Ren realized that he had stayed out for several hours if it was already so late. A whine to his left made him glance over at Diefenbaker who was lying next to him.

"I don't suppose you saw my attacker?" he asked.

Dief got up and walked towards the back of the building stopping once to glance at Ren. The detective sighed and rolled to his feet, slowly following the wolf. It was slow going as he was still a bit woozy. Dief stopped next to a large, still form on the floor.

"Oh dear," Ren gasped and leaned down to place his fingers on the man's throat even though he was sure that there would be no pulse.

A crash near the front of the building made him spin too quickly and he doubled over trying to push back the nausea that suddenly overwhelmed him.

"Turnbull?" a voice echoed from the darkness. It was Detective Vecchio if he wasn't mistaken.

"Back here, Ray!"

Ray appeared out of the gloom with his gun drawn and turned a sour look to the body.

"Ugh. Did you plug him?"

"No, my gun is still back at the office."

"Only you would go after a bank robber with no heater. Is that Ellery?"

"I don't know. I just woke up. Someone hit me from behind. I didn't have time to check his wallet before you arrived," Ren said rubbing his head gently.

"You're lucky. You could be dead."

"Did someone call in the shooting?"

"No, Frannie called me in a tizzy because she hadn't heard from you. Why it's suddenly my job to go bail you out of trouble, I don't know," Ray answered and pulled a wallet from the man's coat pocket.

A quick glance inside was all it took to identify Marcus Ellery. Ren was sure that he'd be seeing the man's pasty, bearded face in his nightmares for a while. Vecchio picked around the body for a few moments but couldn't find a gun on the man. Ren frowned as they went back outside to call in the murder. Soon more policemen arrived along with the coroner, Mort. He went in to confirm the death and to look the body over before it was taken to the morgue. After a few moments he stepped back out side and checked Ren's head.

"Quite the bump you have there, son."

"I believe it was a pistol, though I can't be certain."

"You probably have a concussion. Is there someone that can keep an eye on you tonight?"

"Yes," Ren replied. It wasn't quite lying. After all, Dief counted as someone.

Satisfied, Mort moved back to supervise the moving of the body. Although Ren had only met the doctor on a few occasions, he sincerely liked the man. People tended to shy away from a guy that actually enjoyed such a grizzly occupation, but there was more to Mort. He, Ren, and Fraser had had several lovely conversations about opera over various stiffs.

Ray didn't think Ren should drive himself just yet, so he ended up riding with the detective back to the precinct. When they arrived, two policemen already had his client in custody. Ren could tell that the blond was mad enough to spit horseshoes just by looking at him. The nippers around his wrists didn't help the picture.

"Turnbull! Tell these Johns that I didn't kill anyone," Kowalski yelled from his chair.

"Ray," Ren said turning to Vecchio, "what is the meaning of this?"

"If you didn't drill Ellery, Turnbull, I've got to find the guy who did, and he's sitting right there."

"But I left Ray at his home before I even knew about Mr. Ellery's whereabouts."

"Yeah, but see, it turns out that Kowalski here called Frannie right after you left. He knew where you were going and why."

"This is nuts!" the blond bellowed. He started to lean forward was shoved back into the chair.

Vecchio continued, ignoring the interruption, "His place is closer to the plant than your office. He could have easily beaten you there. I warned you about this guy, Ren. You led him right to Ellery and now Ellery's spending quality time with Mort getting fitted for a wooden kimono."

Ren glanced at his client uncertainly, but received a pleading look in reply. He'd only known Ray for a matter of hours. Was he someone that could commit murder? Did Ren help him kill a man? Ren bit his lip.

"Turnbull! Don't listen to him! I never left my apartment. Frannie said you were just going to check the place out and see if Stella was there. I won't lie and say that I wouldn't mind seeing Ellery dead, but I didn't kill him!"

"Where's your gun, Kowalski?" Vecchio asked.

The two Rays stared each other down before Kowalski finally looked away. Vecchio smiled in glee and waited for a response. Ren didn't like this side of the cop. It once had been tempered by a former Mountie's cool head, but no more.

"I don't have it anymore."

"Why? Did you throw it in the lake on the way back to your place after you killed Ellery?" Vecchio yelled, putting the screws on.

"No!"

"A gun, Ray?" Ren asked quietly.

"This is Chicago! Of course I have a gun! I bought it after Stella and I got married."

Vecchio grinned.

"Where is it?"

"I got rid of it a while back."

"Can you prove that?"

"No."

"Lock him up," Vecchio said in triumph. "He'll talk sooner or later."

Ren walked with his client back to the holding cells. Neither man seemed to have enough courage to look the other in the eye.

"Ray," Ren asked finally, "where is your gun? If I could find it, we could prove that it hadn't been fired."

"You believe me?"

The voice was steel but the blond's eyes were vulnerable and scared. That look was enough to convince Ren.

"Yes."

"I don't have the gun anymore. After the divorce..." Ray's voice cracked for a moment before he got it under control, "it was starting to look pretty tempting, so I got rid of it."

"I understand."

Ren was stopped by one of the officers leading Ray back to the jug. He watched the man disappear down the hallway and the heavy clank of bars ended their conversation. Renfield was determined as he went back into the squad room.

"He didn't do it, Ray."

"Did your fine detective skills tell you that?" Vecchio asked to a chorus of chuckles. "How did you ever get a ticket anyway?"

"I will prove it."

"You do that, Turnbull."

Ren left the precinct and realized he'd have to walk back to the office. Halfway there, the rain from that morning returned. He was soaked and sore by the time he stepped back into the agency door. Dief didn't look much better. The pair of them looked like they'd been slapped by the Pacific, twice.

"Oh my gosh! Ren, you look awful! Lay down here on the couch for a second."

"Thanks, Frannie."

Ren lay down on the short couch and his feet hung over the edge of the armrest. It was uncomfortable most days, but today it felt like a feather bed to Ren. He didn't mean to fall asleep, but realized he had when he felt a hand on his arm shaking him.

"Frannie?"

"I'm here, Ren."

"It's late, you should go home. Mrs. Vecchio will be worried."

Frannie gave him a soft smile and stroked his cheek. He would have blushed at the affection if he wasn't still exhausted. Francesca had always had a soft spot for Fraser. He'd confided in Ren that the woman had made eyes at him the first night Ray had brought him home for dinner. Ren could understand because Fraser had been perfect, after all. There wasn't a woman around that hadn't been affected by the former Mountie. Ren had envied his beauty and charm. Most people never gave Renfield a second look, well, other than to look at him strangely.

"Don't worry. I called Ma and told her you were hurt. Why didn't you say you had a concussion? I had to hear it from my brother!"

"I'm all right. Diefenbaker will keep an eye on me."

"Dief is asleep too."

"Oh, well, I suppose it has been a rather long day."

They were quiet for a bit, and Ren had almost drifted off when he heard her speak softly.

"I miss him."

"So do I," he whispered and slipped back to sleep.

The next morning, Ren woke with a fierce headache. His brain was trying to make a break for it and it felt like it was using dynamite. His clothes were still a bit damp and looked very much the worse for wear. As he stepped into his office he passed Frannie curled up asleep in the wingback by the couch. He returned to the couch and pulled the afghan that had been covering him over her. Quietly, he moved to the small bathroom and started cleaning himself up. A quick wash, shave, and clean shirt from the closet made a lot of difference. He had work to do.

Frannie stepped in as he was pulling on his shoulder holster. She bit her lip and frowned as he unlocked the bottom desk drawer and pulled out his forty-five.

"Ren?"

"There's a murderer about, and I've already been shot at once. I think some protection is prudent, don't you?" he replied but couldn't manage to turn and face her as he spoke.

The holster usually hung on a coat peg in the office. He hadn't worn it more than twice since the agency had opened. The automatic was a different story. It was cleaned on a weekly basis despite the fact that he'd never had call to use it. Ren remembered that Fraser hadn't been wearing his gun when....

"I have to go. We have a client that needs to be cleared of murder charges."

"Ren, are you sure he didn't do it? Ray seems pretty convinced."

"Mr. Kowalski may have a temper, and I don't doubt that he had no love for Ellery, but I don't think he shot that man. If he was going to kill someone, I'm pretty sure he'd do it with his bare hands."

Frannie gasped and Ren realized what he had said.

"I'm sorry, Frannie. I don't mean to be so lurid."

"It's okay, Ren. I just want you to be careful. I couldn't bear it if you went and got yourself... if you got hurt, too."

"Understood," he said pulling on his suit jacket and heading out. Dief was waiting for him by the door with a patient look. "Let's go back and check out the scene of the crime, Dief. We have to get my car anyway."

Detective Vecchio was so positive of Ray's guilt that he hadn't even bothered to place a patrol unit at the bottling plant. Renfield sighed and followed Dief around the perimeter of the building. Toward the back they found a set of tire tracks in the mud. As Ren studied them, Dief snuffled around the bushes next to the building. A yip from the wolf led him in that direction.

"Did you find something?"

Diefenbaker gave him a look that read, "No, I'm yipping for my health," but Ren was focused on what the wolf had found. A packet of matches lay discarded near where the car had been parked. Ren picked it up carefully. It was wet from yesterday's rain, but still appeared to be in good shape -- far too new to have been left there more than a day or two.

"Well looks like we have a clue, Dief. Good job. Let's see if we can find anything interesting at this Queen's Horse club."

The Queen's Horse was a lunch and supper club on the upper west side. It was in a nice area and appeared to have quite the bevy of upscale clientele. Ren felt as out of place as a trout in a grizzly bear convention. Quickly, he made his way towards the bar. The bartender had an easy smile when he picked out a stool.

"What can I get you?"

Ren tried to think what Fraser would have done in this situation, then immediately discarded it. Fraser had had the tendency of being a little too direct in some cases. Ren was sure that wouldn't work here. Before he could think of a tact to take, the bartender interrupted his thoughts.

"That your dog?"

Ren glanced down at Dief who was looking a bit offended.

"Um, actually, he's a wolf."

"We don't allow dogs and we definitely don't allow wolves."

"Of course," Ren said and looked down at his companion, "wait outside by the car. I won't be long."

The wolf gave a derisive snort and trotted out the door. Ren looked back up at the smiling man.

"He listens good," the bartender said.

"He's deaf."

"Oh. What do you drink?"

"Milk, please."

"Milk?"

"Yes, milk would be fine."

The bartender snorted, "And they say I’m a comedian."

"Do you know most of the people that come in here?"

The smile disappeared and he asked suspiciously, "Yeah, why?"

"I'm looking for a friend of mine, Marcus Ellery. Have you seen him here lately?"

The bartender glanced over Ren's shoulder and suddenly started wiping down the bar. Ren smelled the sharp scent of perfume, but refused to look until he had an answer.

"Doesn't ring a bell," the bartender finally replied after a brief silence.

"Is there a problem, Dewey?" a strong alto asked over Ren's shoulder. He turned his stool slightly and faced a stunning brunette.

"No, Ms. Thatcher," Dewey answered in a cowed voice.

Thatcher never once took her eyes off of Ren as she slid into the stool beside him. There was an air of authority about her that made him straighten to attention in his seat. Her dark eyes flashed at this motion. She was swathed in a smart looking blue dress that accentuated her slim but sturdy frame. Her hair hung loose in an evening style even though the sun hadn't yet set. Ren had seen lookers before in his life, but was taken with this one immediately. His mouth was drier than an Englishman's wit.

"Hello," she said politely.

"Ma'am," Ren managed to croak out.

"Welcome to the Queen's Horse. I don't think I've seen you here before."

"Renfield Turnbull, ma'am. I've never been here before."

"Well, I'm Meg Thatcher. This is my place. Perhaps I could show you around."

Ren blushed under her sharp gaze and it seemed to please her. She laid a hand on his arm and leaned in close. He could feel its warmth through his jacket. His mother would have called her display unseemly, but Ren didn't care. In a small corner of his mind, he wondered if this was what it had been like for Fraser on a daily basis.

"Is there something wrong, Renfield? I can call you Renfield, can't I?"

His mouth worked for a few seconds before any actual words came out.

"Yes, ma'am. If you are familiar with your clientele, perhaps you could help me."

"Well, Renfield, I'm here to serve."

Ren's body temperature raised several degrees.

"I'm looking for a Marcus Ellery. Do you know him?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Meg pulled her hand away. Her eyes turned cold, and Ren felt bereft. There was no more warmth. Meg was a cool imitation of the woman she had been seconds before.

"What are you, a cop? I don't have time for this. Levon!"

Ren was shocked by her hard tone. At her bellow, a well built young man in waiter's attire stepped up to the bar. His eyes trailed over Ren's taller frame, but didn't look impressed.

"Yes'm?"

"Escort this gentleman out," Meg said standing. She swept back into the main room of the club without a glance back.

Ren started to call after her but a dark arm locked around his throat. Levon pulled him off balance and started dragging him back to the door.

"Guess you won't be having that milk!" Dewey called at him with a laugh.

It only took a strong heave from the waiter to send Ren sprawling onto the sidewalk outside. Ren looked up at the young man only to receive a meaningful scowl.

"Don't come back," he grunted and disappeared back into the club.

Dief stared at him from beside the entrance. He could see the wolf's disapproval in the gentle eyes.

"I thought I asked you to wait by the car?"

"Wolves are independent animals. They rarely do what they're told, young man."

Ren looked around until he saw the older gentleman leaning against a car. With a sigh, he got to his feet and approached the white haired stranger cautiously.

"Diefenbaker's always had his own way of doing things."

"Hm. You know, you're going about this all wrong."

"I beg your pardon?"

The man looked at Renfield closely. He felt embarrassed over what the man had obviously just witnessed. His face flushed but the stranger swept the fears away with flick of his hand.

"You shouldn't get mixed up with Thatcher, my boy."

"How did you know....?"

"You were getting thrown out of her establishment. Doesn't take a genius. My advice to you is to go home."

"I can't," Ren said earnestly. "Someone's depending on me."

"Noble, but you don't know what you're up against. Thatcher's out of your league."

Ren frowned and asked, "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"Call me Buck. I'm not important, lad. Thatcher is vicious. You'd best steer clear."

"What do you mean?" he asked thinking about Ms. Thatcher's advances toward him.

"Margaret Thatcher is also known as the Ice Queen because of her thing for diamonds, and she isn't too particular how she gets them. She's not someone you want to be friends with."

"I don't think I'll have a problem with that," Ren replied and rubbed his rear end.

"Let it go, son."

With that final cryptic word, the man climbed into his car and drove away. Ren looked back at Dief speculatively. The wolf tilted his head to the side in a sort of shrug. Suddenly, there was a loud bang that sent both of them diving behind the nearest cover. When Ren peeked out again, he realized it had only been Buck's car backfiring. The pair peeked around sheepishly before standing as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

The pair walked back to Ren's car without any more communication. A movement to his left caught his eye and he paused next to the driver's side door. Ren watched a side entrance to the club open. A dark colored sedan sat idling nearby. Thatcher exited the building and climbed inside the waiting car. A blonde woman in white followed her. The car door closed and the women sped away.

"Come on, Dief. I think we need to speak to Ray."

 

\-----------------

 

The holding area at the 27th precinct was new to Ren. He had been to the station many times both by himself and with Fraser, but he'd never visited a prisoner before. Ray looked pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hair was in more disarray than usual. He looked tired.

"Did you get any sleep, Ray?" Ren asked as he sat down on the small cot.

"Not much. I didn't expect to see you again."

"Ray, you're my client. I won't abandon you."

"That's sweet, Turnbull, but I doubt Vecchio is going to appreciate you butting in."

"Regardless, I am here for you. I've even gotten a lead, but I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you some questions."

Ray sighed and his mouth tightened.

"I didn't kill Ellery."

"I know, Ray. I want to ask about Stella."

"Stella didn't kill him either!" he bellowed

"I never said she did, but I need to know about her relationship with Ellery. I'd also like to hear about the robbery you mentioned."

"You gotta understand. It's not because I'm jealous. Well, all right, I am, but Ellery's not a good guy... wasn't a good guy. See, Stella's dad runs a bank and the cops always thought it was Ellery that did the job. He already had a record. They just couldn't prove it. Now, Stel and I were quits by then, but I couldn't let her go, you know? She was my Gold Coast girl. Even when it was bad, there was always this spark. She likes to dance. The way we would move together... we were perfect."

Ren wanted to flinch away from the pain and misery in Ray's voice. Ray was leaning on the cell bars with his back to Ren. The defeat in his shoulders told the whole story more eloquently than his words.

"Tell me about the robbery."

"I went to the bank to see her. She usually went in on Fridays to help her dad. I was going to try to take her to lunch. She was mad. I could see the look on her face as soon as she spotted me. I'd never seen her so angry. In front of everybody she yelled at me and told me to go. I didn't take two steps to the door before they busted in. There were four of them in masks. The main guy, I'm sure now that it was Ellery, he put a gun right in my face. I was scared, but I was more scared for Stella. They told us to get on the floor. Ellery grabbed her and dragged her into the vault. I wanted to move, but I just couldn't. I just stayed frozen there on the floor. I was too scared to protect her. They knew what to take and even what deposit boxes to jimmy."

Ren frowned and asked softly, "Stella helped them?"

Ray spun around and, for a moment, Ren was sure that he was going to be hit. The fury burned in the other man's eyes like a torch. Ren sat still and waited for the blow. It never came. Just as Ray had in his office, he deflated again revealing the broken man inside.

"Maybe he forced her," Ray continued as if the anger had never touched him. "Maybe she didn't know."

"Did the police investigate?"

"Yeah, but Stella's dad protected her."

Ren frowned again.

"He believed she had something to do with the robbery?"

"Don't know. He never thought much of me to begin with. We didn't exactly discuss it."

"She's still with Ellery, or she was."

Ray sat down on the cot next to him. They both stared at the concrete floor. The silence stretched on for several minutes. Ren wasn't sure if Ray was thinking it over or if he was just avoiding thinking about it at all.

"I'm tired, Turnbull," the blond finally said.

Ren knew an evasion when he heard one, despite popular belief. Ren realized that Ray had been through a lot and he decided to let the subject drop for the time being. He slowly pulled himself off of the cot. Carefully, he rested his hand on Ray's slumped shoulder.

"Get some sleep, Ray."

He called for the guard and as the cell door was opened, he turned back to his client.

"Ray, do you have any pictures of Stella?"

"There's one in my wallet, but the cops took it. Why?"

Ren gave him a small smile even though the man didn't look up to see it.

"She sounds like a remarkable woman. I was just curious what she looked like. Try to rest. I'll come back by tomorrow if I can."

He received no reply, but it wasn't surprising. The guard led him back into the bustling squad room. Ren paused by the Desk Sergeant and asked to take a look at Ray's effects. The gruff man refused until Ren said that Ray was his client. The Sergeant seemed to assume that Ren was a lawyer and pulled out the bag. Part of him wanted to correct the man, but since he didn't technically lie, he let it pass. After all, how often had Fraser used half-truths and omissions to his advantage? Ren could bow to this wisdom for the moment. It was important. He flipped open the wallet and was surprised to find it packed full of scraps of paper and ticket stubs. Inside he also found a small black and white picture of an attractive blonde woman. Ren tried to organize the wallet as best he could before returning it to the Desk Sergeant.

Ren thought over all the pieces of the puzzle as he headed back to his car. Things were starting to add up, but to what? Math was usually one of his strong points, but he couldn't make all the numbers fit.

"Anytime you'd like to find the clue that will solve everything," he said to Dief as they headed back to the office, "you just let me know."

Dief responded with a look that said, "I'm working on it," but Ren was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice. It was starting to feel like Fraser's death all over again. There had been questions from the get-go, but Ren could never make a case for foul play. The police weren't interested in his hunches and ruled the case an accident. But what had Fraser been doing in someone else's car? Much less one that had caught on fire and been driven into Lake Michigan. They'd only found a wallet and some burnt clothing to confirm Fraser's death. Vecchio had asked that the lake be dragged for a body, but he had been denied by his higher-ups. They didn't even seem interested that Fraser had plenty of enemies in Chicago that would love to get even with him. With so little evidence, neither he nor Detective Vecchio had been able to avenge the death of their friend. Both men were in a holding pattern of grief with little or no closure in sight.

Ren tried to shake off these thoughts when he pulled into the parking garage. It was best to go into the office with a clear heart because Frannie could always tell when he was thinking about Fraser. He hated seeing her face crumble when she looked at him. He needn't have worried, though, because Frannie was not in the office when he entered. After their late night, he really wasn't surprised. The poor girl had probably gone home to get some rest in a real bed. It was time to get down to business.

Ren hung up his jacket and hat and rolled up his sleeves. Underneath the cabinet in his bathroom was a wide assortment of cleaning products. Ren pulled them all out and started to work. He always thought best when he was cleaning. Often his mind was cluttered with thoughts and ideas. Having order on the outside led to him having order on the inside. Dief and Frannie knew enough to stay out of his way when he got like this. He started in the outer office and worked his way inward toward his desk.

Had Ray told him everything? He swept from the hallway to the bathroom. What was Stella's part in the bank heist? He dusted from ceiling to floor using the feather duster that Frannie had bought him for his birthday. Who was the mysterious Buck, and what quarrel did he have with Thatcher? Ren took out a rag and some floor wax and started in on the old wood floorboards. Why was Thatcher so upset when he mentioned Ellery? Ren worked the wax into the wood for a while. Was it Ellery who had shot at him, or his murderer? Ren paused in his waxing. Who was it that dropped the Queen's Horse matches anyway? Ren looked up at the dusty desk facing his own.

Maybe there was nothing he could do about what happened to Fraser, but he could certainly help Ray. Ren got up slowly and stepped over Dief who was lying on his rug. He looked down at the wolf and they shared a small moment.

"I think it's time, Dief," Ren said picking up another rag. Dief whined softly and watched him carefully clean the adjoining desk. When he was done, the entire office was spotless.

Ren stepped into the bathroom and replaced the supplies. He even managed to look himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. When that was finished, he rolled his sleeves back down and headed for his coat and hat.

"Come on, Dief. We've done all we can today. Let's go home and get some rest. I think tomorrow is going to be a busy day."

Ren went home to eat and get some sleep. His head must have still been bothering him because he didn't wake up until well into the morning. Dief woke him from a dead sleep by licking his face. After a quick bath, he made up some lunch to take to Ray at the jail. The blond didn't look much better than he had the day before, but he did seem happy to have something to eat.

"You should see what they call food in this place, Turnbull."

"I was hoping a good meal would lift your spirits."

"It was a nice thought, but I don't think my spirits can be lifted."

Ren frowned and replied, "Don't think that way, Ray. I've been making some headway in your case."

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one. The cops found out about the bank job and now they think I was in on that too. They think I tipped Ellery off because of Stella dumping me. They questioned me most of the night trying to get me to admit that I shot Ellery because he stole my girl and was going to cut me out of the loot."

"But that's ridiculous!"

"Tell them that."

Ren left Ray still frowning over his lunch and went to find Detective Vecchio. One of the other detectives told him that Ray was out on another case. Ren made his way down to the morgue instead. Mort was alone as usual with the radio playing opera in the background. Ren could barely pick out the strains of Boieldieu's La Dame Blanche. Mort hummed along with Georges and Ren cleared his throat to get the man's attention.

"Oh, sorry, how's the head?"

"Much better, thank you."

"You have to be careful with concussions."

"Yes, yes. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Ellery."

"Well, I don't know, Renfield. It's a police matter."

Ren frowned and said, "Well, he did try to kill me."

"True. All right, he was shot with small caliber bullets, widely spaced. Other than that, I don't have much to tell you."

"Could he have been killed before I got there?"

"It's very hard to pin down a time of death."

"I know, but is it possible?"

"Yes, it's possible."

Ren looked at the floor for a moment before thanking Mort. He quickly ascended back to the detective division to retrieve Dief. The wolf had stayed behind to shamelessly beg for treats. Fortunately, the officers were used to his behavior.

"Dief, I think we need to go back to the Queen's Horse, and this time I'm not taking no for an answer!"

Ren missed the wolfy eye roll he received in response.

 

\-------------------

 

It was still early for the club goers, but even so, the Queen's Horse lacked the hustle and bustle of the day before. Thatcher's car was nowhere in sight. Ren parked around the back hoping to avoid getting noticed by either the bartender or Levon, just in case. He did notice another colored gentleman smoking a cigarette near the back door. Perhaps there was another way of gathering information. He asked Dief to stay in the car and stepped out to join the other man.

Ren stepped up patting his pockets as if he was looking for his own smokes. The only thing on him aside from his wallet were the matches he'd found at the plant.

"Um, darn I'm out," he said hoping he didn't sound as foolish as he thought.

"Well, I'd offer you one, but this is my last."

"Slow today?" Ren asked looking around the parking lot. Still no sign of Thatcher's car, and it was past the time that Ren had met her the day before.

"Nah, everyone's getting ready for the big party at the boss lady's tonight. Me and the band have to cut out of here early to set up."

"Oh, are you a musician?"

The man gently stubbed out his cigarette and slipped it behind his ear before holding out his hand.

"Jack Huey, of Jack Huey and the Musical Ride. We play here at the Queen's Horse."

"Oh, um St. Laurent, Louis St. Laurent," Ren said quickly and shook the man's hand.

"Yeah, I don't mind singing at the club but these special events are a bore. Plus, they don't exactly pass around the finger food in our direction, if you catch my drift."

"Yes, and I suppose a smaller venue wouldn't sound as good as the club acoustics."

"You got that right. Not that the boss has a small house by any means. I wouldn't mind living in Oak Park."

"Yeah, nice area," Ren replied trying to figure out how to get more information.

Before he could think of anything, someone yelled to Huey from the open kitchen door. The singer nodded at him and disappeared back into the club.

Turnbull returned home to his tiny apartment and dressed for dinner. His tuxedo was in excellent condition, partly because he took good care of it, but mostly because he didn't have occasion to wear it much. He was trying to tie his bowtie when he heard a knock at the door. When he opened it, Ren gasped. Frannie was standing impatiently on the other side in her own evening wear.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"About what? I gotta date. I just wanted to check up on you since you didn't come into the office today. I thought your head must be bothering you."

She reached up to touch his bump and Ren flinched away. Instead, he fingered the off-the-shoulder sleeve of her dress. The shiny blue satin gleamed in the soft light of his apartment.

"You look nice."

Frannie gave him a perfect smile and replied, "You're not breakin' any mirrors yourself there, Ren."

Turnbull blushed at the compliment and thanked her. He went back to trying to tie his bowtie straight, but she slapped his hands away after only a second. Frannie tied a tie with the same passion that most people reserve for a garrote. Ren was starting to get worried before she stepped away and proclaimed it perfect.

"I know you don't have a date. So what's up?" she asked after watching Ren fiddle with her handiwork.

"I'm crashing a dinner party this evening. I'm hoping to find some information that will clear Ray."

Frannie bit her lip and said, "You're not doing something stupid are you?"

"Don't worry. I'm taking the pistol, but hopefully no one will even realize I'm there."

"Ren, you stick out like a watermelon in a pea pod! Are you nuts?"

"Frannie, I have to do this. I have to help Ray."

"You don't even know this guy!"

"He's our client, and... he believed in me, if only for a little while. He gave us a chance. The least I can do is return the favor."

"One guy is already dead. You've been hit and shot at! You're going to end up like—"

"No! I promise you, Frannie. Everything will be okay."

He watched her bite her lip some more. She looked around the room at everything but him. He felt bad that this lovely, caring creature was standing in the middle of his shabby apartment.

"Call me tonight when you get back. You'd better call!"

"I will. Now, go on your date. Have a nice time. Don't worry."

Frannie turned for the door and Ren jumped to open if for her. She smiled at him and replied, "I don't think I can help that, Ren. I'm a cop's sister. It comes with the family."

 

Thatcher's home was impressive like many of the homes in Oak Park. Ren pulled his car in down the street and waited until most of the guests had started arriving. He was hoping to walk up the drive and slip in with a crowd unnoticed. When several cars had backed up in the drive he saw his chance. Ren stepped out of the car only to be confronted by Diefenbaker on the sidewalk.

"What? How? I left you at home!"

Dief woofed at him.

"Well don't you think it'll be a bit suspicious of me to show up with a wolf?"

Dief shot him a "Like you can get along without me" look.

"No use begging. You'll just have to wait here."

The wolf gave him another eye roll equivalent and he even growled a bit when Ren had the nerve to tell him to stay. As soon as Ren was most of the way down the street, Dief disappeared around the corner at a run.

Getting in was surprisingly easy. Ren didn't have to give his name or show an invitation. The man at the door just took his overcoat. Perhaps Thatcher had never had a party crasher, or perhaps no on had been foolish enough to try it until that point. Ren put these thoughts aside and tried to blend with the crowd.

The party was a good mix of businessmen and civic leaders. It was the kind of party that would make the society pages. Of course, the editors would be polite enough to leave out that the hostess owned a nightclub.

He drifted towards the sound of the music and saw Mr. Huey at the microphone. The man noticed him at the edge of the crowd and nodded. Ren returned the gesture and skirted the wall. On the far side of the room was the bar, and where Dewey was handing out drinks. Ren moved into the next room to be on the safe side. He snatched a champagne glass from a passing waiter just for looks. The bubbles usually went straight to his head so he didn't bother to take a sip. He needed to be clear.

While Ren was pondering how he would get information about Ellery, a large man stepped up to him.

"Hello, I'm Harding Welsh, plastics."

"Plastics?"

"Wave of the future, son."

"Ah."

"And you are?"

Ren paused for a moment before replying, "Louis St. Laurent."

"The Canadian Prime Minister?" the man asked with a touch of sarcasm.

Ren panicked but said evenly, "No. It's a common name in Canada."

"Oh, you're one of Thatcher's fellow countrymen, then. What brings you to Chicago?"

"Ms. Thatcher is Canadian?" Ren blurted.

"Well, yes. I would have thought you knew that."

"Um, no. I live in Chicago."

"Ah. So what's your business then?"

The man had a very penetrating gaze. Ren felt like a bug under the heat of a magnifying glass. Before he could think of something, a smooth voice interrupted.

"Hello, Harding. I see you've found your friend."

Ren and Welsh turned to face Thatcher. Ren stopped the sigh before it could escape. She was a vision in blue once more. The dress fell off her shoulders in a most attractive way. It shimmered in the light and Ren thought back to Frannie in his apartment. His poor secretary would never be able to afford the beaded extravaganza that Thatcher wore so easily. Tonight he had seen two women in blue. One was as warm as sunshine the other as cold as ice. Thatcher ignored him and instead she and Welsh stared daggers at each other.

Welsh finally replied, "I don't know him. I thought he was a friend of yours."

"You don't know him? And here I thought you were old friends," she said dryly.

"I hate to disappoint you, Meg."

"Oh, you'd never do that, Harding. So tell me, how are the... plastics?"

"Stronger than you think."

There was a charge in the air between them. Ren had the feeling that there was a whole other conversation going on that he was totally unaware of, but he had that feeling more often than not. He started to clear his throat in the ensuing silence, but Thatcher turned away from Welsh as if dismissing him. She took Ren's arm.

"Mr. Turnbull, I wonder if you'd accompany me?"

The grip on his elbow left no room for argument. Thatcher led him through the crowd nodding to and acknowledging her guests. Ren looked back at the frowning Welsh before the strange man got swallowed by the throng. They went through the bustling kitchen and out the rear door. The lights from the house only cast a small glow, leaving tendrils of shadow and darkness everywhere. Ren could make out the dark shape of a garage with a second story above. There were several men lounging and smoking around the open garage door. They did not look like nice men.

A door opened on the garage's upper landing and a figure walked around to the side stairway. It was too dark to see the person, but Ren got the impression that it was a man. He stopped half way down the stairs where the light ended. Ren could only see well shined shoes and dark pants. The rest of the stranger was in shadow. Thatcher motioned to the men by the garage door and made her way up the hidden man. The others surrounded Ren casually, but he was sure they'd stop him if he reached for his gun.

"It's that cop I told you about earlier. Welsh I can deal with. He has nothing, but I can't have anyone else snooping around right now."

One of the men near Ren stepped up and looked him in the eye. He yelled back over his shoulder enthusiastically, "You want us to take him for a little drive?"

Ren was sure he didn’t want to go anywhere with any of these men. Thatcher turned around to face him once more. She appeared to be considering it, but a hand rested on her shoulder. Ren watched her lean back into the mysterious figure as he whispered in her ear.

Thatcher nodded and said, "You're right. We don't need that kind of attention right now. Randall, take him around front and make sure he leaves. I don't suggest trying to return either here or to the club, Mr. Turnbull."

Randall smiled viciously.

"Looks like it's your lucky day, snooper!" he said and patted Ren on the cheek much too hard.

Randall and one of the other thugs walked Ren around the house and back out the front gate. He felt their eyes on him most of the way down the sidewalk. He looked back when he reached his car. No one was behind him and Ren breathed a sigh of relief. When he turned around the sigh became a yelp. Dief was sitting patiently by the car. He had appeared out of nowhere.

"Dief what do you think you're... hey what's that?"

The wolf was holding some papers in his mouth. Ren thought he looked rather smug. It wasn't an attractive expression on him. Ren took the papers and climbed into his car to read them. Dief hopped in through the passenger side window.

"This is a loading receipt for a warehouse by the Lake they call Michigan. Did you get this from Thatcher's house?"

Dief woofed an affirmative.

"I suppose I don't want to know how you got in," Ren admonished, but it didn't faze his four legged partner. "This warehouse is nowhere near Thatcher's club, and these shipments are coming from Canada. Do you think we should check it out?"

Dief looked at Ren as if he had suddenly turned into a cat.

"Right, right, of course," Ren replied quickly and started the car.

 

\----------------

 

Ren pulled up in an alley across from the warehouse. There was activity on the docks even late at night. Several men were unloading trucks. Ren sat in the car with the windows down and watched. Nothing seemed suspicious. Several hours ticked by slowly. Dief was snoring softly in the passenger seat.

"Thanks for the help," Ren muttered. "This was your idea after all."

"Talking to yourself is the sign of a weak mind."

Ren yelped and looked out the window to see a figure leaning against the alley wall. Buck stepped out to where Ren could see him. The older man leaned down to look at him.

"What are you doing here?" Ren asked.

"I'd ask you the same question. This is no place for you. You'd better get on home, son."

"No, sir. I'm working."

"On what?"

"Well, that would be confidential."

"I see. Very good, very good." He paused. "You still shouldn't be here."

"Listen, Mister, um, Buck. I hate to be contrary, but I'm afraid I must. I have to surveil this building. A man's life is at stake. So either you tell me your business here or move along."

"You don't realize what you're dealing with."

"Then tell me! All this cloak and dagger nonsense isn't helping."

Buck looked disappointed, but he only nodded.

"Very well, if your mind is made up. Watch your back, son. Things could get tricky."

With that, Buck stood and looked both ways down the alley. "Now where did I park my car?" he muttered before going to the right. After a few steps, he stopped and turned around to go back to the left. Ren watched him disappear into the gloom. Dief had woken during the conversation and was watching Ren.

"Why can't people just say what they mean? Why does everyone but me know what's going on?" he asked the wolf. Fortunately, he couldn’t understand Dief's reply.

The pair didn't wait much longer for the workmen to clear out. When everything was quiet they made their way to the warehouse. The entrance was locked, but Diefenbaker cleverly found an open window near some stacked crates. The wolf made it through easily, but Ren had some trouble clambering inside. He fell through the window with a small scream and landed flat on his face. He looked up into Dief's disapproving eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered before remembering who the detective was.

The warehouse was full. Most of the containers were marked as originating from different parts of Canada. Ren let Dief sniff around while he headed for the office. He gasped when he stepped inside. It was possibly the tidiest office in the city, outside of his own. Everything was perfectly filed and put in the proper place. Ren leafed through the cabinet, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A whine behind him made him turn. Dief was reared up with his front paws scratching at something in the big desk chair. Ren rolled the chair back and found a small blue clutch purse in the seat.

"Hm. Normally I wouldn't intrude on a lady's privacy, but these are special circumstances."

Ren looked through the purse. Inside there was a compact, a lipstick, some money, and a gold cigarette lighter. Ren examined the lighter closely. Etched on the front were the letters M.E. The sound of the warehouse door sliding open startled him out of his thoughts. Ren quickly refilled the purse, slipping the lighter into his pocket. He flipped off the desk lamp and motioned Dief to hide.

Two cars pulled inside. One Ren recognized as Thatcher's. It was confirmed when she got out followed by the blonde he had seen at the club. Ren looked down at Dief and mouthed "Stella." The thugs from earlier that night piled out of the sedan behind Thatcher's. There was a lot of yelling and commotion. The Ice Queen's voice rose above it all yelling out orders. Stella was off by herself. Her red dress glittered in the unflattering light of the warehouse. Ren slowly made his way through the maze of containers all the while keeping the red in his line of sight. Occasionally he'd have to move quickly to avoid Thatcher's goons. Ren got all the way around to where Stella was standing. He was unsure if he should try and catch her attention or not. The decision was taken away from him when a voice whispered into his ear from behind.

"Hello, sweetie pie."

The sharp jab of a muzzle in his back kept him from trying anything. Randall, because Ren was sure of the man's identity without looking, patted him down and pulled the .45 out of his tuxedo pocket.

"Well, well. Did you have this before? Shame you didn't try to use it. Now move!"

Randall shoved Ren out into the open. Thatcher was standing with another man that Ren hadn't noticed in his hurry to get to Stella. They were facing away when Randall shouted to them.

"Hey, boss lady! Lookie what I found."

The pair turned and Ren froze. It wasn't possible, even if it did confirm all his suspicions. Benton Fraser stood next to Thatcher and he looked very cross.

"Fra—" Ren began but was interrupted by Fraser's fist. Ren's glass jaw sent him slumping to the floor.

 

\----------------

 

Ren came to and found his movements restricted. Someone had taken off his jacket and tied him to a chair. Dief was nowhere in sight. "Oh dear," he mumbled and moved his sore jaw around. Randall was nearby going through his things.

"Hey, he's not a cop. He's just some shamus."

Thatcher examined the PI license. She looked back at Fraser who was frowning at Ren. He knew that look. It was the "I dare you to say something" look. Fraser had learned it from Detective Vecchio, and he was a very good student. Ren couldn't meet his eyes for more than a couple of seconds.

"Who are you working for?" the Ice Queen demanded.

Ren glanced at Stella, but didn't reply. Thatcher looked as if she was going to slap him. He caught a reflection out of the corner of his eye. Randall had found the lighter. Ren watched the two women closely. Both had faces of stone, which he found very telling. A stone face on the Ice Queen was to be expected. She was probably an excellent poker player. Stella, though, was something all together different. Ren thought about this new twist as Thatcher walked back over to Fraser.

"The buyers will be here within the hour. We need to get rid of him. I don't want them to get spooked."

"I can take care of it, boss lady. It'll be my pleasure."

"I'm sure it would be, Bolt," she said with a measure of disgust.

Fraser interrupted, "Don't you think it would be wise to see what he knows and who he's told? You said he was talking to Welsh tonight at the party."

"Right now, Billy Bob, I don't much care what he knows. It doesn't matter anyway. Once this deal is over, we're leaving."

"What about me?" Stella asked.

Ren didn't catch Thatcher's reply because he was too busy saying 'Billy Bob' to himself over and over in confusion. When they were done talking, he looked up at Stella.

"Mrs. Kowalski..."

"How did you know my name?"

"I know your former husband. He hired me to find you, and it appears that I have."

"Ray?" she asked. "I'm not married to him anymore. My whereabouts are none of his business."

"Oh, I'm sure he doesn't care where you go. It's just the company you keep that worries him."

Thatcher started to give a sharp reply, but Stella said, "I don't have to listen to this." She turned her back on Ren and started walking toward the office.

"Perhaps you should," he called, "since he's probably going to go to the gas chamber for murder."

Stella stopped short and looked back at Ren with surprise.

"Ray? Murder?"

"Yes, the police think he killed a man named Marcus Ellery."

Ren watched each of them in turn. In the silence of his revelation, there was a screech of tires. Several cars sped up to the warehouse and blocked the entrance. Armed men came from every direction. Ren saw Vecchio, Welsh from the party, and the mysterious Buck among them. Welsh had his gun drawn and yelled.

"Chicago PD! Drop 'em!"

Randall and his men opened fire and from then on out it was pure chaos. Bullets flew and the crack of gunfire reverberated against the metal walls of the building. Ren struggled with his bonds but couldn't free himself. He was the only one left in the open. Everyone else had taken cover. Over the yelling and confusion, Ren heard a voice calling his name. He looked over and gaped. Ray Kowalski was crouched nearby.

"Ray?"

Whatever else he might have said was lost when fire streaked across his thigh. A stray bullet had grazed him but good. Ren gritted his teeth and tried not to pass out again. He looked up to see Ray dart from his cover and run straight at him. "No!" he yelled, but it did no good. Ray kept running and barreled into Ren like an anemic linebacker. Their collision knocked him sideways in the chair and they crashed to the floor. Ray covered him with his body and tried to undo the ropes.

"Pull the outer rope up!" Ren gritted. He had landed on his wounded side.

"What?" Ray yelled.

"Box knot. Top rope up!"

Ray pulled a bit and Ren's hands came free. They quickly rose to dodge and weave their way through the firefight. Finally, they dove into the relative safety of some shipping crates. Dief was waiting there as if he had been expecting it the whole time.

"Where the heck have you been?" Ren hissed, but Dief ignored him.

Ray rolled his eyes at them and asked, "How'd you know what kind of knot that was? It was behind your back."

"Just a guess," Ren replied with a smile.

"What?"

"I told you I could find Stella."

Ray looked startled.

"What? She's here?"

"Yes. I think she was headed in this direction. What are you doing here anyway?" he asked as they moved towards the office.

"That weird guy Buck convinced Lieutenant Welsh and Vecchio to bring me along. They think Thatcher was the brains behind the knockover of the bank. Buck says she probably killed Ellery. They wanted me to see if I could identify any of her guys from the bank. I was supposed to wait in the car."

"Lieutenant Welsh, you say? Hmm. Well, that explains a lot. You really should have listened to them, Ray, and stayed in the car."

"If I had you'd have a serious case of lead poisoning right now."

"Good point."

"Ray!"

They turned at the cry and Stella darted out of a corner into Ray's arms. Kowalski held her tight and whispered to her softly. Ren looked away. The gunfire had died down so they retreated back to the loading area. The police were gathering everyone up into custody. Fraser had a tight grip on Thatcher's arm. She looked ready to claw his eyes out. Buck stepped forward.

"Benton. Good work, son!"

"Thank you, Sergeant."

"Fraser!" Vecchio yelled.

"Hi, Ray."

"Hi? Hi? You've been dead for months and all you can say is 'Hi?'"

"I'm sorry about that, Ray, Ren," he said nodding to Ren. An indignant yelp made him look down. "Sorry, Diefenbaker. I hated to deceive you all like that but Sergeant Frobisher insisted that I had to fake my death to make the operation a success."

"What operation?" Ren asked exasperatedly.

Buck answered, "Diamonds, my boy. I thought I had given you a good enough hint." After looking at Ren's expression he added, "Maybe not."

"Sir, if I may?" Fraser asked and continued after Buck's nod. "For a while the RCMP has suspected that someone was crossing the Canadian border to smuggle diamonds into the United States. Chicago was the exchange point. Sergeant Frobisher was my father's old partner. He knew I was working in the city and would be a good candidate for infiltrating the ring from the Chicago side. While I'm unaccustomed to undercover work, the RCMP was confident that I was the man for the job. They, along with Lieutenant Welsh, helped me fake my death and create a cover. I'm sorry if I've caused you any undue pain, but the ring was responsible for the deaths of several RCMP officers. I couldn't turn down the opportunity to bring them to justice."

"That's why all my inquiries into the accident got denied," Vecchio said glaring at Welsh. "They knew you were alive and didn't want me proving it."

Fraser seemed surprised by this news.

"You were digging?"

"Ren and I both were."

Fraser smiled.

"Well, I do appreciate it, Ray, and Ren." Another yelp made him sigh. "And Dief."

Vecchio shook his head and said, "You aren't going to appreciate it in a minute, buddy. I'm afraid your prisoner belongs to me."

"What?" Buck barked.

"Thatcher, she's under arrest for the murder of Marcus Ellery. Right here in good old Chicago."

"Told you I didn't do it," Ren heard Ray mutter beside him.

"But, Detective, Ms. Thatcher didn't kill Ellery. Stella did," Ren said quietly.

Ray whipped around to glare at him. Stella clung to his side and he pulled her close protectively.

"What? She's innocent. They've held her hostage all along."

"I saw her getting into a car with Thatcher at the club. She wasn't under duress, Ray. The whole time they were holding me here she was never restrained or threatened."

"How do you know she did it, Ren?" Fraser asked.

"Well the lighter, obviously."

"What lighter? What's he talking about, Benny?" Vecchio asked while holding on to Thatcher.

Ren stepped over to the handcuffed Randall Bolt and pulled the lighter out of his pocket. He showed it to Fraser.

"See the initials are M.E., for Marcus Ellery. It all started when I found matches from Thatcher's club at the bottling plant. I thought that the killer dropped them, but I think Ellery did. You see, he didn't have his lighter. I found it tonight in the blue purse in the office."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Vecchio asked.

"Stella's wearing red. The night I saw her get into the car with Thatcher, she was wearing white. Ms. Thatcher was the one wearing blue. Therefore, the purse must be Thatcher's."

Ray let go of Stella and stepped up to yell in Ren's face.

"That means Thatcher killed him! She had his lighter!"

"Why would she take his lighter after she killed him? She can certainly afford a gold lighter, and she's too smart to keep it for a trophy. No, I'm afraid it means that Stella killed him because Ellery threw her over for Thatcher."

The room grew silent. Ray looked closely at his ex-wife but she only stared at Ren defiantly.

"I assume that Stella helped Marcus steal more than money in that bank job. He also must have ended up with diamonds from the deposit boxes. I'm not sure if Thatcher planned the robbery, as Sergeant Frobisher believes, but I am sure neither of them would know how to get rid of the stones on their own. They would have to go to the Ice Queen, one way or another. Suddenly, Ellery didn't need Stella's help anymore, and he'd found himself another woman who could get him what he wanted. He must have given Thatcher the lighter at some point, and ended up having to take some matches from the club.

"I'm guessing that before I arrived at the bottling plant, Stella and Ellery argued and she shot him. When I showed up, she panicked -- that would explain the scream -- and she fired at me. I thought it was Ellery shooting, but surely a bank robber who was familiar with guns would have hit me. I was in the open after all. Plus, the coroner said that the bullets in Ellery were widely spaced, indicating that his killer wasn't a great shot. It was Stella who knocked me out with the gun. I was between her and the door and she needed to escape. Not knowing where else to go and still wanting the money for the diamonds, she went to her rival. Perhaps she wanted to get rid of Thatcher, or perhaps she just wanted in on the deal, I don't know. In any case, there is an easy way to prove it. She should still have the gun that she used to kill Ellery."

All eyes were on the woman in red. Ray walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. There was nothing but love and trust on his face. Ren wanted to say something, but Kowalski spoke first.

"Tell 'em, Stel. Tell 'em it's not true."

Stella reached up and touched Ray's face. It was a tender caress, but Ren noticed that the tenderness didn't reach her eyes. Out of the corner of his eye he could already see Fraser moving towards them, but it was too late. Stella reached into her purse, pulled out a .32, and pointed it at Ray's head.

"I'm sorry, baby. Billy Bob, or Fraser, or whatever your name is, stop right there. Everybody get back."

Ren watched Ray's face crumble. He didn't seem to care that Stella was threatening his life. Maybe he didn't care about his life anymore after finding out his ex-wife was a murderer. Ren felt for him. Kowalski had been through so much in such a short amount of time. He was probably regretting that he'd ever set foot in the detective agency.

"Mrs. Kowalski, you don't have to do this," Ren said softly.

"I don't have any choice now that you opened your big yap!" she yelled.

Ren could see all the policemen in the room spread out. Someone surely would be able to flank her, but could they do it before she killed Ray? Ren looked at his client. He was still staring into Stella's eyes.

"Baby, why? You know I'd do anything for you. Why?"

"I was stupid to get involved with you, Ray. You were fun, but fun doesn't pay. I thought I was going to do all right by myself. It was time for my dad to retire. I was sure that after all my hard work, he'd see to it that I'd take over in his place. But you know what? The bank sent some snot nosed kid straight out of school. He couldn’t find his ass with both hands! After everything I'd done for that bank! Just because I'm a woman I don't deserve it? Well, to hell with that! I knew it should have been mine, so I took it!"

"Money? This was all just about money? Why didn't you... I coulda..."

"No, Ray. I knew you'd never cross that line, but Ellery would. I never planned to share the money with him. He didn't think I'd have the nerve. Well, lover, you know me, I got plenty of nerve."

Ren could see Vecchio stepping behind Fraser to hide the fact that he was pulling his gun. Everything was going wrong so fast! Ren was frozen. It was all his fault. If he had failed as usual, and had never found Stella, Ray would have been safe.

"Is this our last dance, Stel? Is this how you want it to end?" Ray asked trying to hold back tears. He was still oblivious to the gun mere millimeters from his forehead. For some reason, this question brought her up short and she stopped to look him in the eyes. It was her undoing.

Fraser dove forward tackling Kowalski at the same instant Vecchio raised his weapon. A strange part of Ren's mind recognized that the pair had always worked well together. The single shot made him flinch. He heard Dief whine. Stella crumpled to the floor. Fraser struggled with Ray. Kowalski was screaming and trying to reach out to her, but Benton held him fast. Vecchio and the other policemen converged with guns drawn and Welsh kicked the .32 away. Ren gave Vecchio a questioning look, and the cop shook his head in response. It was all over. Case closed.

\----------------

Most people didn't appreciate hospitals as much as Ren did. After all, hospitals were always clean. His usual appreciation for the order of the antiseptic setting was dimmed somewhat by sitting next to Ray. The blond was slouched down in his chair hugging himself. There was a cloud of misery hanging over the room. Ren had tried talking to him but after a series of grunts and one word answers, he gave up. Instead he pondered why hospitals always had the most uncomfortable chairs. He moved in his seat. It figured that some place that had people waiting long hours would have comfortable furniture, but that was hardly ever the case. Especially if one had a superficial bullet wound in one's leg wrapped in cotton. Ren readjusted himself in the chair once again and looked up to see Lieutenant Welsh approaching them. Ray eagerly jumped to his feet.

"How is she?"

"She pulled through the surgery. Doc says she'll be fine at least until she stands trial. The DA is already baying for blood."

Ray softened at the news. Lieutenant Welsh looked like he wanted to continue, but Ren shook his head. Ray was happy enough to know that Stella was alive. He didn't need to start worrying about what the future held just yet. Welsh nodded and gave Ren a pat on the back. This acceptance pleased him to no end.

"Can I see her?" Ray asked.

Welsh looked at him askance. "She tried to kill you."

"I just have to make sure she's all right."

"Doc's over there. Let's go ask him."

As the two left, Ray Vecchio wandered over with two cups. Surprisingly, he handed one to Ren.

"They say this is tea, but that's up for debate."

"Thank you, Ray. That's very thoughtful."

"Yeah, well you had your hands full with the Polock. Oh, and I called the house to tell Frannie what was going on. I didn't mention Fraser yet or she'd be over here in her nightgown."

"Thank you, again. In all the excitement, I almost forgot that I'd promised to call her."

"Yeah, apparently she's left about twenty messages for me at the precinct, so I took care of it." Vecchio paused for a moment before continuing. "I like to think that I'm the type of guy that tells is like it is so... You did a good job tonight, Turnbull."

Ren blushed.

"But just don't expect me to start liking you or something," Vecchio added quickly, but there wasn't any venom in his words.

"No, no, of course not."

The pair sat in silence for a while watching the mix of policemen and doctors in the waiting room. Stella and Ren hadn't been the only ones wounded. There had been some small injuries during the fire fight. Fraser stood off to one side talking with Buck and some other members of the RCMP plus a couple of FBI agents. Vecchio watched his best friend and shook his head.

"Look at him. He doesn't even care what he put us through. He doesn't even realize how we've hurt. He just pops back from the grave and gives us some spiel about duty."

Ren agreed, "Yes, but he didn't do it on purpose, Ray. Fraser... Fraser just doesn't understand. He's lived a very solitary life, and he doesn't see how things are different now."

Ray gave an exasperated sigh. "Saints preserve me from Canadians!"

Fraser looked up at the exclamation. They watched him excuse himself from the group around him. Ren and Vecchio exchanged a knowing dance while they waited for the resurrected man to join them.

"Ren, Ray."

"Benny."

"Fraser."

Vecchio snorted, "Well, now that we're all reacquainted, I'm going to talk to Welsh and check on some of the guys."

Fraser and Vecchio smiled at each other, and the detective impulsively gave him a quick hug that Fraser returned awkwardly.

"It's good to have you back, Benny," Vecchio said softly and moved away.

"I agree," Ren said.

"It's good to be back. I don't think I'm suited to the life of a criminal."

"I suppose the RCMP is pleased." Ren paused to frown. "I bet they'd be happy to have you back."

"They've offered."

"Oh."

Fraser took Vecchio's empty seat and put his hand on Ren's shoulder. "I turned them down. They wouldn't want me in the field, and I wasn't meant to sit behind a desk doing paperwork."

Ren's mood lightened considerably. Fraser continued.

"Not that you need me around. You seem to be doing fine all by yourself."

"Spoken like someone who hasn't examined our books, yet."

The pair grinned at each other until the far doors opened. Ray Kowalski came out looking tired.

"How is she?" Ren asked.

"She's still out, but they say she'll pull through."

Fraser stood and said, "Mr. Kowalski, I'm terribly sorry for what happened to Mrs. Kowalski."

"Why? Wasn't your fault."

"Still, I feel I should have done something to prevent—"

"Listen, Stel made her choices. No one could ever tell her what to do. So don't worry about it."

Fraser nodded. Ren watched as the two men stared at each other. Ray seemed to be sizing Fraser up, and Fraser was looking back admiringly.

"There is something I owe you," Fraser said.

"Hey, I'm the one that owes you guys. I still haven't paid the full bill yet."

"No, I owe you a debt of gratitude. Your quick thinking saved Renfield's life this evening. I saw you pull him out of the line of fire. That was very brave."

Ray looked surprised by the compliment.

"Anybody would have done it. Hell, Welsh chewed me out for leaving the car."

"I'm glad you did. I'd have never forgiven myself if Turnbull had gotten hurt."

Ren looked down and blushed at Fraser's warm tone. For the first time since he'd started the agency with Fraser, he felt like an equal. The other two were still talking when he looked back up.

"You're very light on your feet."

"I like to dance."

"Interesting. So what are you going to do now?" Fraser asked.

"I don't know. Everything's so different now. It'll be hard to go back to the garage and pretend everything is normal."

"Hm."

"Hm? What does 'Hm' mean?" Ray asked.

Ren smiled. It was always a good sign when Fraser said 'Hm.'

 

\-------------

 

Epilogue

 

Ren sat on the couch in the outer office shining his shoes. He half listened to Frannie and Ray Vecchio argue as only siblings can. They quieted though when the door opened to let in Fraser and Ray Kowalski.

"Well?" Frannie squealed. "Let's see it!"

Kowalski rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet. He handed Frannie a small piece of paper. She squealed even louder and grabbed Ray in a bear hug. The blond looked embarrassed, which was probably what Frannie had in mind all along.

"I can't believe the city gave you a PI license, Kowalski." Vecchio grumbled. They had mostly gotten over their differences once Fraser asked Kowalski to join the agency, but there would probably always be an edge of antagonism. After all, Vecchio had thrown Kowalski in jail.

"Why not?" Ray replied. "They gave Turnbull one, didn't they?"

Ren looked up with a frown to find the four of them smiling at him.

"Very funny."

"Where's Dief?" Frannie asked looking around.

Fraser sighed and explained, "He refused to come inside. He's still sulking that I didn't tell him I was going to fake my death and that Renfield got all the credit for solving the case."

"Well, he did help a lot. I couldn't have done it without him. I even said so to that newspaper reporter. It's not my fault that he didn't believe me."

Vecchio rolled his eyes.

"So now what? You change the name to Fraser, Kowalski, Turnbull, and Diefenbaker Investigations?"

"I think that's rather a mouthful, Ray. We'll keep it just the three names."

"What about Fraser, Kowalski, Turnbull and Vecchio?" Frannie asked.

"You trying to find me a new job, sis?"

"I was talking about me you big lug! I do a lot around here, you know."

"Yes, Francesca, you are invaluable," Fraser said diplomatically, "but unless you have a private investigator's license you can't be on the door."

"Well, maybe I should get one. I'd be the first female investigator in Chicago!"

Her brother snorted, "Yeah right, like that's going to happen!"

"Shut up! It could!" Frannie replied smacking him on the shoulder. "You think I'd be a good PI, don't you, Ren?"

Ren smiled at his friends, "I certainly wouldn't want to be on the other side of the interrogation table from you, Frannie."

"See!" Frannie yelled, which started the argument between her and her brother back up.

Ren watched them all for a little while, but after a few moments he pulled on his shoes and quietly slipped out. As he was pulling the door closed behind him, Ren smiled when he heard Frannie ask, "So what do you have to do to get a PI license, anyway?"

Outside on the steps, Dief was looking forlorn. Ren sat down beside him. "You shouldn't feel bad, Diefenbaker. Now that Ray has his license, I suppose he and Fraser will be working together. With all the business the case has generated, I'll probably be working on my own, and you know I'm useless without you."

Dief grunted an agreement.

"What do you say about us getting one of Alice's meatloaf sandwiches?"

The wolf quickly got to his feet and Ren laughed.

"I thought that would be right up your alley. Come on, we can't be expected to clean up this town and help the downtrodden on empty stomachs."

The pair walked down the sidewalk for a ways before Ren remarked, "You know what Diefenbaker? This looks like the beginning of a beautiful partnership...."


End file.
